


With a Little Help from My Friends

by Smirkdoctor (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Depression, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smirkdoctor
Summary: Sometimes, despite wearing her cherry-patterned cardigan and petting a cuddly, purring Toby while drinking tea prepared just the way she liked, Molly Hooper felt...sad.





	With a Little Help from My Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



Sometimes, despite wearing her cherry-patterned cardigan and petting a cuddly, purring Toby while drinking tea prepared  _ just the way she liked _ , Molly Hooper felt...sad. Such episodes were generally short in duration, as her low mood was definitely under better control than it has been during her turbulent times in uni. The once-daily pill she took to “replete her happy neurotransmitters” saw to that.

But occasionally, after a week including the death of a child or one too many young people with cancer on the slab, the mental clouds hovered a bit lower, a bit thicker. And so she retreated inward, turning to cozy domesticity and introverted coping strategies like silencing her cell phone. Usually a day or two of quiet self-care was enough to get her back on her feet.

Lately, though, it had all become a bit too much. There was the kerfluffle with Sherlock’s apparently horribly evil sister (she still didn’t entirely understand  _ that  _ phone call). And that had come closely on the heels of the Brexit crisis. God  _ dammit  _ if the world didn’t seem intent on burning itself down, starting with Britain and the US. 

With each shattering announcement on the news, she felt the pain of the affected others as if it were her own. She’d never told any of her friends about her mental health history, so it was just a lot to handle.

So, the evening after she had called in sick to the morgue in favor of reading in her bed, cocooned in blankets, she was surprised to hear a tentative knock on the door. She sniffled a bit and rubbed the heels of her hands over her tired eyes. She extended her creaky joints and walked in stocking feet to the front door, peeking out of the peephole.

And there was Sherlock Holmes, resplendent in his Belstaff, hands behind his back, shifting minutely on his feet as he waited impatiently. Molly combed her fingers through her long bangs before quickly tightening her ponytail. She pulled her shoulders back, stood up straighter, and let out a deep breath, and turned the doorknob.

“Sherlock?” Molly could hear the hoarse weakness in her own voice, which had been unused for three days. 

She stepped back as the detective swooped through the door. He wandered into her kitchen and she heard banging cabinet doors and clattering glassware. She stooped to scoop up Toby and headed to see what in the world he was doing.

She stopped on the threshold and saw a bouquet of daisies in her only vase. There was a paper bag wadded and discarded next to three bottles of Cherry Vimto and a package of pre-made cookie dough.

“Sherlock. What…?”

“I needed you at Bart’s today. You weren’t there.”

She sighed and placed her hands on the counter, leaning into yet another argument. She barely bit back a scoff as he held up a hand to stall her offensive.

“Upon reflection, I recognized signs in your recent behavior of a...depressive episode.”

Suddenly she was without words.

“And based on my own experiences, both with myself and my *ahem* sister…” Sherlock glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes before spinning to grab two glasses and the ice. “...there seems to be some benefit to sharing space with someone who...understands.”

He poured the Vimto and ripped open the cookie dough, then placed them on her tea tray, all without raising his eyes. Molly felt her own tearing up and ran her sweatshirt sleeve over her eyes.

When she looked up again, she met the odd, light-colored eyes of the man she had admired for so long. She felt a new phase in their relationship click into place at the depth of sadness and connection she observed there. She swallowed and walked forward to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning on her heel to head into the living room.

She settled on the couch and smiled minutely up at her visitor, motioning for him to place the tray on the coffee table. She dug between cushions to retrieve the remote and clicked on the telly.

“It’s important to get out of bed once in a while,” she murmured before glancing at Sherlock. “And sometimes I need to be reminded of that.”

He nodded briskly and rolled up his sleeves before propping his feet on the table. “There’s a show I think you might like,” he said. “Have you heard about  _ Queer Eye for the Straight Guy _ ?”

**Author's Note:**

> I identify strongly with Molly, and so I gave her my introversion and depression. The world has been shitty lately, y'all. This one goes out to Merinda, with so much love. Thanks for being there, friend, and let's keep supporting each other.


End file.
